Moonlit Conversation
by BohemianTypewriter
Summary: An unlikely couple connects in an abrupt way. Standing in the moonlight.


He looks up towards the sky. Above him the moon shines in a silent, composed kind of beauty, bathing his face in cool silver light. People mill around him, chattering senselessly. He ignores them, his gaze fixed on the sky. Smaller stars are clustered around the brighter moon, lesser beings mostly staying unnoticed among the more radiant beauty among them. They were both silver, both served their purpose; but one drew the eye and held it, while the other faded into the background.

Like him.

He senses that someone has stepped behind him, simply by the slight shift of the air. He feels a slight pang of perverse disappointment on having to share the view, but is determined not to be disturbed.

The person's whole being radiates heat. She has probably just left the fire, where a few kids were throwing twigs and roasting chestnuts. Out of the corner of his eye he glimpses the gleam of red strands of hair.

"Beautiful," she says softly.

"I wasn't thinking that she looked beautiful," he says evenly.

A silent moment follows, not awkward, but because the unlikely couple are content in each other's company. "It's a perfect metaphor, isn't it?" she says sadly. She takes a step.

"What?" He had no idea why he was even tolerating her.

"A metaphor for you," she says. "You're just like that, aren't you?" She had hair suggestive of a forest fire, surprisingly feminine, a world away from her older brothers. her head tilts sideways, long strands of red curling against the soft curve of her cheek.

"Yes," he says. He forces a short acidic laugh. "Why the sudden concern, love?"

His use of such a patronizing endearment was like a slap in the face. He expects her to stalk away, offended. She doesn't. Instead she steps forwards, rubbing her hands together for warmth.

"That's why," she says quietly.

"What?"

"I always wondered why people keep away from you," she says. Her face had become closed off, her chocolate eyes taken on a distant look as if she had worked something out. "I guess the problem is not them, it's you."

For some reason this offends him. He flares up.

"Yeah, well, you're not exactly the most popular person alive either."

The minute he says the words he wanted to reclaim them. Her face darkens and her eyes go cold. Even in his warm clothes, her gaze causes ice to lance up and down the length of his spine.

Then she blinks and the moment is gone. She smiled and leans against the tree behind them. She pushes one hand into her pants pocket and laid the other one on the trunk, her fingertips tracing loops on the thick reddish-brown bark. She sighs, and turns her face away from them.

"I suppose you're right," she admits. "I used to hang around my brother and his friends all the time. It was the only way I could get noticed, but i irritated them."

"It didn't work," he says. Snow skirls against her lips.

"It didn't work," she acknowledges.

She tucks a coil of red hair behind her ear. It would have been considered unique if her entire family didn't sport the same color. Her brothers have the same red hair, but hers was softer-well, looked softer, anyway- and dances behind her when she walks. Right now she has pinned it up with wisps of hair hanging around her face, framing her chocolaty eyes. The mane of blazing red hair is tucked under her jade green knitted cap, patterned with holly berries and mistletoe.

For a moment they both look up at the sky. She smells of lavender, not perfume but the shampoo she favors.

He looked at her. His eyes were pale silver-gray, so mesmerizing that for a moment she didn't speak. He arches his eyebrows. "What about family?"

"What about _your_ family?"

He narrows his eyes, and stiffens, drawing his body in one pure line of scorn.

"I get it. You were invisible too," she says. Her eyes spark in understanding, her brow creased up. He nods, eyebrows knitted, looking up moodily at the moon in its serene grandeur.

He could just see her face from the corner of his eye without turning his head. Her lashes are auburn and curl upwards smoothly, as long as his thumbnail. Her face is sprinkled in cinnamon-colored freckles. She closes her eyes. A snowflake flutters on her lashes, and she brushes it away with a weak smile. It quivers to her cheek, melting on her skin.

His eyes blink and he quickly latches his mind away from a particularly disturbing train of thoughts and steps away from her.

"Are you going to walk?"

He thinks and his mind tells him no, but he smoothly steps forwards beside her.

"Sure," he says. Her lips curl in a curiously shy smile and she tucks her glove through the curve of his elbow. He wonders if he should break away, trying to think of a good reason he should, but nothing comes to his mind, so he decides to just put up with it.

To his surprise, her fingers seem to be trembling slightly.

"Are you cold?" he asks her. She shakes her head.

"Do you think we should go back?" she asks, her face turning towards the warm golden glow of the bonfire. Her hair is dusted with a smattering of white snowflakes, her cheeks blushing from the icy wind. "Not yet."

"Are you going home for Christmas? Because I wanted to ask-"he breaks off abruptly. What just went through his mind? Has he gone crazy?

He pulls the scarf from his neck and gently tucks it around her unguarded throat. Surprise sparkles in her eyes as his fingertips brush over her collarbone. She gasps something, his name maybe, as he pulls her forwards. His arm curves against her back, rubbing against the even pearls of her spine. She murmurs his name into the curve of his ear. He bends over her and she arches her back. they are cushioned in a snow bank when they have their first kiss.


End file.
